


Between the Lines

by CarolPeletier



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Prompts Welcome, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolPeletier/pseuds/CarolPeletier
Summary: A collection of drabbles in no particular order ranging from Season 1 to Season 8, from fluffy and sweet to naughty and smutty, to angsty and sad, all revolving around Carol Peletier and Daryl Dixon.  Prompts welcome!





	1. The Way You Look Tonight

Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead. 

Between the Lines

Chapter 1 – The Way You Look Tonight

He’d never noticed the freckles on her shoulders.  He’d never noticed how blue her eyes were.  He supposed he was guilty of looking through her and not at her, because that’s pretty much all he’d done for most of his life, because the last thing he wanted to do was feel a connection with someone who would eventually end up using him or hurting him in one way or the other.  It was best to just keep his head down and not let emotions or hormones get in the way.  Especially now that the world had gone to shit and everything felt like an endless nightmare.

She was seated on the couch, her feet propped under her.  That long gown she wore left everything to the imagination except those collarbones.  Her chin was propped in her hand, and she was peering down at the pages of a book in her lap. 

The place was quiet.  He was pretty sure everybody was preoccupied with either drinking, showering, fucking or sleeping without the worry of waking up to a walker ripping their throats out.

For Daryl, the CDC was more of a cold comfort.  He never much for that caged in feeling, which was exactly how he felt as he stood in the doorway of the lounge and saw her reaching for her wine glass.  The gown slipped enough to show the creamy, smooth flesh on her shoulder, freckled and pretty and almost glaring at him, daring him to keep looking. 

She must have seen him out of the corner of her eye, because she jumped a little as she swallowed down the last drop of her drink.

“Oh.  I didn’t see you there.”  Her voice was soft and sweet.  Careful.  She looked up at his face and then away, fingers thrumming against the page of her book.

“Didn’t know anybody’d be here.  Couldn’t sleep in that cell.”

“My room’s a little small, too,” she admitted.  “Sophia went right to sleep, but I couldn’t.”  She chuckled softly.  “I thought I’d sleep like a baby.  We’re safe here.  I guess it’s a little too close in here, too.”  She looked around at the walls, and Daryl took a step toward her.  She looked up at him then, those blue eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights.

The back of his neck grew hot, and he watched as she got up off the couch, pulling her book close to her chest, its presence a buffer between her heart and the outside world, the world that failed her repeatedly while her husband beat her and shaped her into a woman she barely recognized when she looked in the mirror.

She flinched when he took another step in her direction.  He knew that look.  He’d had that look himself.

“Guess it ain’t so bad,” he said quietly, chewing his bottom lip as his neck burned a little hotter.  “Beats the alternative.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, gaze darting toward the exit.  He moved away from her then, and she took her chance, starting for the exit.  She stopped then, hand on the doorway, and he looked over his shoulder.

“It’s better,” she agreed.  “Tomorrow, maybe we can all start over.”  She had a nervous twitch of a smile on her lips, and then she was gone.  Daryl stood there in her absence before flopping down on the couch and closing his eyes, thinking of nothing but those pretty blue eyes that had stared back at him with flinching curiosity.  It was going to be one hell of a long night.

 


	2. The Touch of Your Hand

Chapter 2: The Touch of Your Hand

He wasn’t a man who pushed boundaries.  That much she knew.  She had never been one for it herself, which was probably why they’d been circling one another since the farm, treading carefully, pulling in when necessary, drifting apart for the same reasons.  But they always gravitated back to one another, no matter how long the absence.

Tonight was different.  Tonight, she felt like they were lying side-by-side in parallel universes.  He was inches away, but he might as well have been miles.  There was something disjointed, something off kilter, and it had been that way since that night after Terminus. 

She couldn’t describe it in words.  She wasn’t ready for that, and he knew that.  He knew enough not to try to ask her again.  In many ways, it was the same, him knowing she needed time and space.  Yet she’d lay down next to where he sat, and he’d followed her lead, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above them.  They were still.  She heard his voice hitch in his chest when her hand accidentally brushed his. 

Her own breath caught.  Her heart quickened.  There was so much to say, so much that needed to be said.  Still, she was silent.  Saying it out loud would mean something.  The pain she’d been through, the horror she was certain they’d both experienced since the prison fell, the palpable tension between them that very moment, it all came to a crescendo in her head, and she suddenly gasped for air, sitting up, clutching her stomach as her shoulders shook.

He was sitting up beside her moments later, reaching for her, afraid to touch her, but finally giving in, resting a hand against her back.

“You ok?”  His voice was hoarse, like he’d found his words for the first time in too long.

“No,” she whispered, hot tears stinging her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.

“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling his arm around her.  Instead of moving into his embrace, she turned, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his lips.  He bristled, surprised at the sudden act, something that seemed to knock the record back on the player, that seemed to put the pieces back together for just a moment until he pushed her shoulders back and looked into her eyes. 

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, though her hands gripped  his arms not like a lover but like someone who desperately needed to feel something, anything.  As much as he wanted her, wanted to do this with her, he knew that it would only hurt them both m ore in the end.

“C’mere,” he urged again, pulling her close, laying back against the mattress with her, letting her curl into him and soak his skin with her tears.  It was everything then, just to be close, just to feel something, just to let it out.  She didn’t have the words, but she had this, and he closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life.  He prayed that he was enough. 


	3. Solace

Chapter 3 – Solace

He found her sitting in the chapel.  The others had cleared out the dining room, pushing tables scattered with bingo sheets and pill bottles to the wayside.  They’d cleared the bodies, and then they’d all hunkered down for the night for a meal of garbanzo beans and corn chips. 

A bottle of cheap wine had been passed around amongst the adults after the children went to sleep, and Daryl had taken first watch, keeping an eye out for walkers or any sign of survivors from the retirement home.

It was close to midnight when Shane had come to replace him.  There were too many people in the dining hall, and the stench of rotting corpses still clung to the walls and in the air, heavy like a curtain of smoke.

Then he heard it.  A soft gasp coming from down the hall.  Crossbow raised, he followed the sound, coming upon the dimly lit chapel, a small place constructed for the former residents of the building. 

She sat there, staring out the window, hands clasped in her lap, and he felt like an intruder.

Something crackled under the toe of his boot, and then she was looking at him, taking in the sight of him standing in the doorway with his crossbow at the ready.

“You can join me if you want.”  Her voice was soft and kind, and as she brought her hand up to wipe at her eyes, he thought of her that day, pickaxe in hand, sweat at her brow, emotions bubbling just under the surface of her skin. 

“I don’t pray.”

“That’s ok.  I’m not so sure anyone’s listening.”  She smiled weakly. 

He moved to sit down next to her, lowering his weapon across his lap. 

“Sorry ‘bout before.”  He crossed his feet, tucking them back a little, under the pew.

“Before?”

“Sophia. Shouldn’t have snapped like I did.” 

“Oh.”  She took a deep breath and managed a smile.  “You were just looking out for the group.”

“Still, m’sorry.”  Carol looked over at him with those pretty blue eyes, those ones he’d seen watching him at the camp, the ones that more often than not were filled with tears.  He knew what it was like to live with a boot to his back, pushing him down in the dirt. 

“You can’t sleep?”

“Just got off watch.”

“Oh.  I couldn’t.”  She gave him a half smile.  “Bad dreams.”

“Hell, we nearly got blown up.  Can only get better from there, right?”  Carol considered that for a moment before chuckling at the absurdity of it all.  A smile curled at her lips.  She had a beautiful smile, and then she crinkled her nose, and God help him, he ducked his head and blushed.  “You saved us, you know?  You did that.”  He chewed his lip and got up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.  He nodded in her direction and turned to go.

“Daryl?”  Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.  He turned then, and she smiled again, sniffling and wiping at her eyes.  “Thank you.”


End file.
